


Dratchtember 2019 Fills

by not_whelmed_yet



Series: Demon Drift [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Demons, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-20 22:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_whelmed_yet/pseuds/not_whelmed_yet
Summary: A few short ficlets for Dratchtember (link).Ch 1 (Affection) - fluff fic about Drift being a sappy conjunxCh 2 (Bloodshed) - angst & h/C AU about Drift not being exiled after OverlordCh 3 (Love and War) - angst/whump Deadlock and Ratchet fight to the dead (unless rescue can get to them first)Ch 4,5,6 (In the Circle, Intensity, Free Space) - Ratchet summons a demon to prove demons don't exist.





	1. Day 2 - Affection

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably go through later and clean these up a bit with formatting/editing. Much more raw than my usual posted fics, but hopefully in an enjoyable way!

“Oh, it’s not that I mind people thinking I’m good at my job,” Ratchet said. “I am good at my job. Pretty damn good, if you ask me. But sometimes you just get the feeling that if we could program the medical droids to do surgery folks wouldn’t miss me. You know?”

“I know that you should be asleep already,” Drift said. “Go on, to bed with you,” He gave Ratchet a playful shove towards the berth, then scooted around him to blow out the candles he’d lit earlier.

“Mm, you’re probably right,” Ratchet said. “If I remember this, morning Ratchet isn’t going to like that I got all mooshy on you.”

Drift followed Ratchet onto the berth, scooting up to snug himself against Ratchet’s chest. “Oh don’t worry, I already knew,” Drift whispered against his plating. “I _am_ your conjunx.”

—

“Hey Ratchet,” Thunderclash said. “How’s it going?”

Ratchet looked around the medibay. Fairly uneventful morning, really. “It’s going. Something up?”

“Oh not medically,” Thunderclash said, holding up his hands apologetically. “I was just - it’s been awhile and I remembered how much I missed playing fullstasis with you. Wondered if we could schedule a game?”

“Oh.” Ratchet smiled. “I can probably squeeze you in sometime.”

—

Whirl flagged Ratchet down in the hallway, which could only mean one of two things: either someone was bleeding out or he needed help tricking Riptide into believing improbable things about Cybertronian anatomy. “Doc! Don’t look so excited to see me,” Whirl drawled.

“What do you need?” Ratchet asked, trying to gauge based on Whirl’s face which of his two options were more likely.

“Nothing, nah I’m good. Just wanted to say thanks for the advice you gave me last week. ‘bout the Hornhead. It was good advice, I owe you one. Remind me that next time we’re in Swerve’s, 'kay?” Whirl sauntered off with a wave of his claw and Ratchet wondered what the hell was happening.

—

“It’s quiet in here,” Ratchet said, looking around the observation lounge. “We planning a surprise party for someone?”

“What, no. Should I be? Is there someone who wants a party?” Rodimus looked around like there might be someone with a deep longing for festive activities lurking behind a pair of chairs. “I _know_ you don’t like parties, Drift informed me that Parties Were Out of The Question.”

“…cool,” Ratchet said, not quite following where this was going. They’d get to the point eventually. Sometimes it just took a bit of vibrating before Rodimus settled down to teh right dimensional plane of conversation. “So, you wanted to meet?”

“Drift tells me people don’t appreciate you enough,” Rodimus said seriously. “But that parties were out of the question. And I know you melted down both of the Rodimus Stars I gave you so I’m a bit stumped here.”

Things were starting to take shape. Ratchet even had a vague and blurry memory of the night before that almost explained things. “Really, it’s fine. You know how Drift is, he blows things out of proportion sometimes - ”

“He’s usually right about you, though.” Rodimus smirked. “Anyway, I don’t think you need to hear it from me, but you’re important to a lot of people for a lot of things and most of them aren’t reattaching limbs. So, uh, thanks. For the advice and the persistent shoves between my shoulder blades when you thought I could do the right thing but I wasn’t sure if I should jump.”

“If I don’t die from terminal embarrassment before I get back to my room, I am going to murder Drift,” Ratchet mumbled into his hands.

“Careful now, that’s my best friend you’re talking about,” Rodimus said. “Anyway, don’t think you have to walk all the way back to your room. Oh! Yeah, nearly forgot - you have tonight off, Velocity and First Aid forgot to comm you.”

A hand brushed up against Ratchet’s side and he startled, then lowered his hands to glare at Drift. Drift beamed at him, throwing a wave over his shoulder at a retreating Rodimus as he draped his arms over Ratchet’s shoulders. “Hey beautiful,” Drift said.

“Don’t tell me you threatened people into being nice to me,” Ratchet said.

“Really? You think I had to get the swords out? People like you, Ratch. They just get the impression from somewhere that you’re not the kind of person who wants affirmation.” Drift pressed a kiss against the corner of Ratchet’s mouth, then leaned back to smile at him. “I don’t know where they get that idea. It might have something to do with this crotchety jerk who throws things when they try to talk feelings.”

“Can’t imagine who you’re talking about.” Ratchet said.

“Mm, I’ll just have to give you some clues,” Drift said. And then he kissed Ratchet again, smile sharp against his lips and hands soft against his helm. Ratchet melted a little, but he didn’t let it show.

Too much.  
  
And if he did, well, Drift was his conjunx, after all.


	2. Day 3 - Bloodshed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst & hurt/comfort - Drift isn’t exiled after Overlord’s attack. Instead he’s stripped of his Autobrand and imprisoned in the brig. This is what happens next.

“You mind if I come in?” Ratchet asked.

Drift stared sullenly at him, unmoved like he hadn’t heard the question. Damn, maybe he hadn’t - internally, Ratchet was vibrating with urgency, the need to get hooked into Drift’s medical readouts. But he forced his body to stillness, redirected his fury down to dispassionate diagnoses. He wasn’t going inside without Drift’s okay.

Drift seemed to realize that, inclining his head to welcome Ratchet into the cell.

Ratchet lowered the forceshield and unlocked the door, coming to kneel beside the bench at the back of the cell. “You going to tell me who did this?” Ratchet asked, hooking in and letting the numbers replace his guesses.

Drift shook his head.

“You protecting them or punishing yourself?” Ratchet asked. “We both know you weren’t behind Overlord - certainly not alone.”

Drift’s lips curled, revealing fangs still bright with fuel. “You sound like them.”

Ratchet put him back together in silence, what he could repair outside the medibay. He lingered on cleaning the cut on Drift’s helm - superficial, unimportant except for the part where it’d nearly given Ratchet spark failure when he’d first gotten to the brig, seen half of Drift’s face streaked with fuel.

“If this happens again, I’m going to go to - ” Ratchet’s words died on his lips. He couldn’t go to Rodimus, not after how the sentencing had gone. Ultra Magnus was gone. Red Alert was in a drawer in the morgue. “If I have to lock myself in here with you, I’m going to stop you from throwing yourself on a blade out of guilt,” Ratchet declared.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to die,” Drift rasped. “Dying’s too easy.”

Ratchet wondered if he meant for _them_ or for himself. He suspected Drift meant both. And damn, he was going to get Rung down to speak to Drift, he was going to do _something_ -

But in the short term there was a wormhole and an urgent comm and the best Ratchet could do was to promise he’d be back as soon as he could.

—

The ship was full of bodies; mostly legislators, some crew. Tailgate was dying and there was a limited window of time that any of Tyrest’s miracles could save him. Ratchet didn’t have the luxury of going down to the brig to check on one self-sacrificing scapegoat.

He went anyway.

The security system indicated that none of the doors had been improperly opened or damaged and so the Decepticon prisoners should have been safe in their cells. Sure enough, when the elevator opened, all the carnage was contained to the walkways between the cells.

There was a silence to the cell-block that that Ratchet hadn’t heard since they picked up the Decepticon prisoners on Temptoria. The remains of eight, maybe nine legislators crowding the walkway between the cells; there were the bodies of three Autobots. Drift’s cell door was open.

Ratchet checked the bodies first - all miraculously alive. Ratchet recognized them - Pyrene, Dirac and Toxin. Someone had used the emergency kit on the wall to stabilize Kirac, whose left leg had been torn free and who’s chest had been crushed by the impact of a legislator’s gun. The other two weren’t nearly as bad off. Ratchet could deal with them later.

He went to the doorway of the cell and looked inside. “You mind if I come in?” he asked.

Drift stared at him, stretched out on the bench with his one leg twisted to wrongness and ruptured optic leaking down his face. His hands were pressed up against his side, Ratchet would have bet shanix there was a hole neatly matching a legislator’s blade under his fingers. Drift stared at Ratchet and smiled.

“You’re okay,” Drift said. “Frag, Ratch, I was really worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” Ratchet said dismissively, hustling into the cell to stop Drift from hauling himself up to a sitting position like a maniac. “I feel like you have more important things to worry about.”

Drift snorted. “I’m not dead. What’s happening up there? The rest of the crew? Rodimus?”

“We’re still doing our headcount. There were some casualties but Rodimus is fine.” Ratchet plugged in to Drift’s medical readouts and sighed. “So, how did your cell door get open?”

“Someone must have left the door open,” Drift said. “Forgetful of them.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Ratchet growled. “How much of this was the legislators, Drift?”

Drift turned away, and Ratchet knew he wasn’t going to drag a confession out of him - not if Dirac and the other two hadn’t.

“I’m taking you up to the medibay,” Ratchet said, sliding one arm under Drift’s shoulders and one beneath his knees to lift him as gently as he could. “Rodimus confessed, you know. He didn’t even make it a full week before he cracked.”

Ratchet had expected Drift to take the news as stoically as he’d taken everything else since his sentencing. Otherwise he would have waited until they were safely past the Decepticon prisoners watching from their cells to break the news. Instead, Drift crumbled and Ratchet had to walk him to the elevator like that, shielding him with his body as best he could.

—

Ratchet woke up at the sound of the door creaking open, and he was already sitting up and ready to go back on call before he realized it wasn’t First Aid at the door of the relief room. And it wasn’t Ambulon - wouldn’t be Ambulon ever again.

“You mind if I come in?” Drift asked.

Ratchet held out his arms to catch Drift as he staggered across the space between the door and Ratchet’s berth. Drift climbed into Ratchet’s arms, squeezing Ratchet tighter than he would have dared touch Drift’s battered frame. Ratchet felt like his spark was as raw as the patches on Drift’s plating, gone soft at someone’s arms holding him tight even if it was out of _their_ need for comfort and not a desire to comfort him. “You’re going to be okay,” Ratchet whispered, voice breaking.

“So are you,” Drift promised. “That was unbearable. Knowing you were in danger, knowing that you were hurt and not being able to save you…Primus. Ambulon. I am so sorry, Ratchet.”

“There’s nothing you could have done,” Ratchet said. He wanted to say that there was nothing anyone could have done but he preferred not to lie to himself.

“The same goes for you,” Drift said. “Ratchet, I don’t - I don’t believe I should be forgiven for what I did. I _was_ complicit. If it weren’t for me Overlord would never have been on this ship - ”

“That’s also true for Rodimus,” Ratchet said.

“I don’t have to reckon with his guilt, Ratch. Mine is more than enough.” Drift pulled back, brushing noses with Ratchet as he did. “I don’t think I should be forgiven but I don’t think I can bear to leave you like that again.”

“Think about yourself for once in your life,” Ratchet grumbled.

“I am. Ratchet, I love you.” Drift said. “I love you every and any way you’ll love me back.”

“Well, damn.” Ratchet reached up to brush his fingers over Drift’s cheek, beneath the eyepatch he’d be wearing for another three days, at least, while they waited for his new optic’s connections to his brain module to stabilize. Drift shivered at his touch and Ratchet decided he’d held himself in enough for one week. He’d lost more than he could bear and he’d fucked up more than he could fix and there was nothing he could do about any of that now. But he could kiss Drift.

When he broke the kiss, spark thrumming in his chest, he leaned back to take in Drift’s face; tired and drawn but with optics brimming with life and tears. There was a smile on Drift’s face that he’d never seen before - real and _hopeful_.

“What do you know,” Ratchet said. “I love you right back. And I’m never going to let you do anything that stupid and self-sacrificing again, even if I have to take on the whole damn universe to stop you.”

“I’m really not worth taking on the universe for.”

“Deny you’d do the same thing,” Ratchet said. “I dare you.”

“Kiss me again and I’ll believe you.”


	3. Day 4: Love and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (cw: Angst, Violence) AU(ish): Ratchet finds himself captured by Decepticons and ends up fighting Deadlock to the death...unless rescue can get to both of them first.

"Ratchet, don't do this," Skipshot whispered.

Ratchet pulled away and tried to give the kid a reassuring smile. "Sorry, Skip, I don't think this is an optional activity."

"Come on," the genericon said, grabbing Ratchet's collar by the train and trying to bodily haul him out of the cell. Ratchet's feet scrabbled on the smooth flooring, trying to keep up so the big lug didn't crush something important.

The Con dropped him at Bludgeon's feet and then settled back to lurk menacingly.

"It's been so long, doctor. I've been missing you," the Decepticon general said, optics promising that he still remembered everything* that had happened the last time Ratchet had suffered the misfortune of his hospitality. Comparatively, a fight to the death against one of these brutes promised to at least be short.

"Bludgeon, breaking ranks again, I see," someone sneered,. Ratchet knew that voice. It was -

"Deadlock, I told you to mind your tongue. I suggest you do so before I am forced to rip it out and feed it to you," Bludgeon growled.

Deadlock sauntered over, ignoring the glares of Bludgeon's guards with a smile on his lips. He paused beside Ratchet and looked at him for a for a long moment. "I just don't see how the entertainment value of watching this one bot die is worth what Megatron is going to do when he realizes you've fragged his prisoner exchange. He's a noncombatant, it wouldn't even be an interesting fight."

Bludgeon roared and lunged forward - frag, Ratchet had assumed a monster with that much bulk would move a lot more slowly - grabbing Deadlock around the throat and lifting him into the air. "You will be _silent_," Bludgeon roared. "It is not your place to question the orders of your commander."

Deadlock didn't look particularly concerned, given that Bludgeon could probably rip his head off his shoulders if he got riled enough. "You're not my commander. Telling you to back down _was_ my orders," Deadlock hissed.

Bludgeon dropped him and Deadlock sprung back to his feet, stupid fragging smile still on his face.

"You are under my command and you will obey _my_ orders," Bludgeon commanded. The air of petulance rather undermined the menace in his voice.

Deadlock stared at him.

Bludgeon stomped closer, pushing his grotesque face into Deadlock's. "Either you do what I say or I deliver back to Megatron a dead spy."

"Well, what are your orders?" Deadlock asked, amusement plain in his voice.

Bludgeon considered for a moment and then began to laugh. "You. You will fight him."

Deadlock glanced over at Ratchet again, triumph his his eyes, and Ratchet realized that this was the plan. Somehow. It didn't seem to make much of a difference who did the executing but maybe Deadlock was sentimental.

He'd not missed the...thing, between him and Deadlock. They'd crossed paths a few times, almost all of them in situations where Deadlock had every opportunity and often direct orders to render Ratchet dead and yet Ratchet was suspiciously not dead. Ratchet had tried not to fuel whatever this was but he was pretty sure Deadlock knew his...interest was returned. Not that Ratchet would ever do anything about it - Deadlock was the enemy and unless he wanted to defect that was the end of it, so far as Ratchet was concerned.

"If that's what you want, Bludgeon," Deadlock said. "Still not going to be a very interesting fight. But I'll try my best not to be killed by the unarmed noncombatant."

"You're right," Bludgeon said. "We should even the scales a little. Hand over your weapons, Deadlock."

Deadlock looked less than pleased at the suggestion but the troops on this ship were all Bludgeon's loyalists, even Ratchet could see that he didn't have much of a choice. Of course, a not _evil_ army wouldn't have _Bludgeon_ as one of their generals, which would rather prevent this kind of sticky situation.

Deadlock disarmed, passing the contents of a small armory to one of the surrounding genericons - two blasters, a sniper rifle, several grenades, an electrowhip and several knives that he'd had tucked under his plating.

Bludgeon waited until he was finished, and then took one of the knives and tossed it at the floor by Ratchet's feet. "This is for you," he said. "Try to put up a fight." Next he picked up one of the blasters, looking it over with a casual eye, like a mech inspecting an interesting bauble at a secondhand store. "And this is for you," he said, leveling the weapon and shooting Deadlock through the shoulder.

Deadlock went still, body rocking back from the impact and then returning to equilibrium. He looked so unaffected that for a moment Ratchet thought the neural feedback had knocked him offline. Then his optics flickered over towards Bludgeon and Ratchet recognized the sheer fury in his face. "Are you done?" Deadlock asked.

"I think I am," Bludgeon agreed. "Let us move on to the main event."

The guards formed ranks around Ratchet and Deadlock, their locked shoulders forming the ring. Ratchet wondered if the other prisoners could see him from their cell. He hoped not - this was probably going to be embarrassing and short. He ducked down to grab the knife and then surveyed his opponent. Deadlock was poking at the hole through his shoulder, but when he saw Ratchet staring he dropped down into a low crouch. "You waiting for something, doctor?" Deadlock asked.

And then he lunged at Ratchet.

Ratchet had learned how to fight from Roller, back in the day. Roller had emphasized to him, over and over, that maybe some people were talented at fighting and some weren't but the thing that mattered most was who had put in the work and practiced until they didn't need to think about what they were doing anymore. Ratchet could never get in that flow state for more than a few seconds at a time before his brain started outrunning him. Deadlock landed the first hit, whacking Ratchet on the back of the head and sending him stumbling.

Ratchet spun on his heel at jabbed at Deadlock, using his blade to keep him out of grappling range. Deadlock dodged backwards and someone in the crowd jeered.

There was a message in Ratchet's remote upload queue. He did _not_ have time to read spam mail, not if he wanted to keep Deadlock from doing the fairly unpleasant things the anonymous 'Con in the crowd had just suggested. But Ratchet got lucky, managed to catch Deadlock's ankle as he was retreating away from Ratchet and sent him onto his aft. While Ratchet backpedaled he opened the message. _Ratchet had always been too curious for his own good._

The message was a radio frequency and an encryption code. Ratchet locked optics with Deadlock, immediately certain of the source. Deadlock waved him on, like he was goading Ratchet to stab him. "Well, come on," he growled.

Ratchet tuned in to the frequency and set his decryption algorithm to the provided code. Immediately, Deadlock's voice was there in the back of his skull, like he was breathing down Ratchet's neck and whispering in his audial. >>Come on, come on, lunge already, they're going to notice.<< Deadlock hissed.

Ratchet wasn't in the habit of doing as he was told, but Deadlock was right. He charged and Deadlock slipped under his knife arm, grabbing him by the wrist and shoving him off balance. >>What are you doing?<< Ratchet radioed.

>>Buying time. Megatron knows. We've just got to survive until he gets here.<<

Deadlock bowled Ratchet over, throwing them both to the ground.

>>What are you doing?<< Ratchet asked again.

Deadlock scrabbled for the knife in Ratchet's hand.

>>Saving your life<< Deadlock replied. >>Do exactly as I say. Now swing for my head.<<

Deadlock rolled off of Ratchet to dodge.

>>Get up. Now.<<

Ratchet shoved himself to his feet, noise of the crowd fading away as Deadlock's voice filled his head.

>>Chain attached to your collar. Use it to catch my wrist.<<

Ratchet did it, dragged Deadlock's good arm into a lock at his command.

>>Good. Use the knife to pin that hand into my back.<<

Ratchet hesitated.

>>Ratchet, do it. I need both hands disabled to justify not killing you.<<

Ratchet did it. Deadlock screamed, the crowd howled, and the world felt like it was fracturing in two as the voice on the radio thanked him. Deadlock squirmed away from him, trying to climb back to his feet and falling twice. Ratchet followed the voice forward to grab Deadlock by the finials and slam his head twice against the ground.

>>Okay,<< Deadlock said. >>Bad news, I'm gonna bite you. Sorry.<<

Deadlock got his teeth into Ratchet's wrist and then there was fuel everywhere and they were both on their feet, trying circling and feinting in accordance with Deadlock's careful choreography. Ratchet knew how hard it was to kill a Cybertronian - it was certainly _possible_ to kill a mech bare-handed but it wasn't easy. He was more worried that Deadlock was going to pass out.

>>They're coming. Few more minutes.<< Deadlock said, like most one-on-one fights didn't last less than a minute. Ratchet caught him around the neck with his elbow and used the leverage to shove the knife deeper into Deadlock's back, at his direction. The kid shuddered with the pain and Ratchet's spark twisted. Deadlock was the enemy and that was the end of it. That was supposed to be the end of it.

>>Why are you doing this?<< He asked.

>>Love makes people do stupid things.<< Deadlock said. >>Fuck that hurt. Push your advantage, if you shove forward I'm going to fall. Do it.<<

>>I don't want to hurt you.<<

>>_Now_ do it now do it now!<< Deadlock roared and Ratchet threw them forward, hitting the ground just as the first shots went off overhead. Laserfire, hopefully the cavalry. Ratchet covered his head and stayed low, pretended he didn't notice that doing so meant shielding Deadlock with his body.

>>Nobody's looking,<< Deadlock said over their radio link. >>Rescue's coming. Last chance, doc.<<

>>Last chance to what?<< Ratchet asked.

>>Well, you could kill me. Or you could kiss me. Take your pick.<<

That first stolen kiss was barely half a second. Megatron's loyalists were on them too soon, pulling them apart, sending Ratchet back with the other prisoners to be exchanged back for Soundwave. Deadlock's radio signal faded as Ratchet was carried back across the hold of the ship, like a signal decaying across miles or lightyears. >>You better not die,<< Ratchet said, though he was pretty sure Deadlock was unconscious and could no longer hear him. >>You didn't even kiss me back.<<


	4. Day 5: In The Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet decides to make a demon-summoning circle to prove to his roommate that demons don’t exist.

The door slammed and Ratchet resisted the urge to yell something after Trefacto. That was one way to get out of a losing argument; wait till you were losing then announce you had to go to class.

Honestly Trefacto wasn't a bad roommate. He was no Thunderclash, but nobody was, except Thunders himself. So it was probably better to not dig any deeper in this argument and escalate it from a serious philosophical difference into some sort of feud.

But seriously. _Demons_?

Ratchet was willing to tolerate people who believed in Primus or the Guiding Hand - there was at least cultural conditioning to dig them into those beliefs. Demons were like weird fringe conspiracy stuff. And Trefacto's argument that the only reason there hadn't been a verified demon summoning yet was that nobody had perfectly duplicated the required summoning circles out of his demonology book was beyond absurd. Ratchet picked up the book and flipped to a random page. It didn't even look that difficult.

He skimmed the list of required materials, a plan forming in his mind. If he made an indisputably correct circle he could use that as proof that all of this was bogus. He got up and checked Trefacto's schedule to make sure he had time, then got to work.

The wire was laid out in a spiraling circle that looped three times before being knotted along the outer ring into the curves demonstrated in the diagram. Easier than knotting up a sensornet tear. Next there were the mirrors, which Ratchet did have to run out to the store to get, and the laser that was wired into the electrical circuit and pointed at the inner circle of mirrors. It looked like an electrical engineer's first circuitry project gone wrong, but with more elegant symmetry. It certainly wouldn't do anything except very inefficiently power a laser pointer.

The book didn't require he say any magic words or light any candles or other gobbledygook, thankfully. Ratchet considered waiting till Trefacto was back to do his demonstration. But it'd be embarrassing if there was something wrong with his wiring and it lit on fire or something. Better to test it.

Ratchet went to his room first to get a snack, then a fire extinguisher. He powered on his contraption and sat down on the one of the chairs, fire extinguisher at the ready.

The light bouncing between the mirrors did look cool, Ratchet decided, but there wasn't otherwise much of a show. He checked the book and it said that a demon was supposed to be summoned "once the light of the wires sinks down into their lower dimension and drags them up into Being Once More." Ratchet wasn't sure how long that was going to take, but after ten minutes he was going to -

There was a thumping sound from inside the circle. Ratchet jumped.

The circle was empty. Ratchet extended his wrist light and climbed to his feet, sweeping the light over that empty space. Nothing.

"Would you put that down," a voice spoke.

Ratchet jumped, then swept the light over the space again. Still nothing there. If this was an elaborate prank, he had really underestimated Trefacto's ingenuity...

"Are you doing a summoning in your living room?" the voice continued. "Are you eating - are those energon crisps? I don't feel like you're taking this very seriously."

"Where are you?" Ratchet asked, walking closer.

"Don't step on the - be careful!" they hissed. "If you break the circle I get to _come out_, do you know _anything_ about summoning?"

Ratchet took a step back from the circle. "Are you a demon, then?"

They snorted. "Is that what they're calling it these days? Last I heard I was called a _Sliver_. Equal and opposite to the Silvers. They get to be dappled light and ethereal grace, we get to be...this."

"So you're invisible?" Ratchet asked.

"Walk around the circle."

Frowning, Ratchet did so. As he walked there was a blip in his vision. Ratchet paused and slowly moved backwards again, nothingness transforming into a silhouette that appeared to be made of pure shadow, except for two golden optics.

The demon - sliver, whatever - waved. "Hello there."

"I'm pretty sure demons aren't supposed to say 'hello there'," Ratchet said.

"I'm pretty sure you have no idea what you're doing," they shot back. "You haven't even asked my name."

"What's your name?" Ratchet asked.

They laughed. "What's yours?"

He didn't get the joke. "Ratchet." They didn't need to know the rest.

"Ratchet, tell me, why did you decide to summon yourself a sliver? Do you have enemies that need dispatching? Scores to be settled? Do you wish for power and wealth?"

"I was trying to prove you don't exist," Ratchet said with a shrug. "My roommate is obnoxiously credulous, I was getting sick of him blabbing on about _magic_ and _demons_ and Primus and healing crystals."

They cocked their head at him curiously. "That sounds...just stupid enough to be true. So you have no idea what I am or what you could have me do?"

"I don't believe in the divine," Ratchet said. "I don't want you to do anything."

They laughed again, the sound making a shiver run down his spine. "Ratchet. _Ratchet_. I think I like you." Delicately, they settled down to sit on the ground within the circle, propping their chin on their hands. It was eerie - they weren't like a shadow across the ground. They were like a complete absense of light, a visual void. "Do you have any questions?" They asked.

"What's your name?" Ratchet asked again. "Or what can I call you?"

"Drift," they said. "Call me Drift."

"Okay, Drift. Cool. So, uh, how are you...like this? Were you always a sliver? Or is this some sort of, I don't know, divine punishment."

"You don't ask easy questions, do you?" Drift said softly. Ratchet hadn't expected soft. "I don't remember. According to the mythology I must have been a mech who, upon death, had committed such great evil that I was forbidden entrance to the Afterspark. But I don't remember that. I was not, and then I was."

Ratchet nodded. "That sounds unpleasant. Wait, so do you actually have to do anything I say? Like, if I asked you to embarrass my faculty mentor would you have to do it? Or do people make bargains with you?"

"There's very little one could offer a sliver - I'm either between spaces or I'm bound into service. Most people that have summoned me have either given me orders or died in the attempt. It's _possible_ to give me an order I cannot refuse. But the inexperienced summoner tends to release the circle without having done so."

"You've killed people who've summoned you?" Ratchet asked, sitting down on the ground so he would feel less anxious about tripping over thin air and ending up in the summoning circle.

"I've killed for my summoners. I've stolen sparks and poisoned conjunxes. I've slaughtered newframes in the dead of the night during a supposed armistice. People who summon slivers _are not nice people_. Yourself excluded, I suppose. If I see a chance to get out of unpleasant work, I take it. And I'm bound until my summoner releases me or they die."

"Wait, so just powering off the circle won't send you back?" Ratchet asked, glancing over at Trefacto's book.

"I can't leave the circle with it powered on and I am generally called upon for tasks that can't be carried out inside of one. No, powering off the circle doesn't de-materialize me. The circle holds me, the binding keeps me in this dimension."

"Okay, well how do I send you back? My roommate is going to be out of class soon and I need to get this whole set-up gone before he gets back or he's going to know he was right about demons. And he'll be _insufferable_ if he knows he's right."

"You want me to go?" Drift asked, voice full of mock-offense.

"I didn't actually want you to show up in the first place," Ratchet pointed out. "Yeah, you probably have things to do, I've got a presentation to prepare before tomorrow. It was fascinating meeting you but I don't have any interest in being a professional demon summoner. So how do I send you back?"

Drift folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not telling you."

"What?"

"This is fine, I like it here," Drift said. "I appreciate the...attempts? At interior decorating. It's very homey. I've never been to university - so far as I know - it'd be nice to soak in the ambiance."

"I'm actually in residency to become a doctor," Ratchet said. "My roommate's a student. But - more importantly - you can't stay here! I need to clean all this up so he doesn't realize I made a working summoning circle."

"I can't believe your university student roommate has a book with working summoning diagrams," Drift said, shaking his head. "If you want to break the circle, be my guest. But you clearly don't know how to dismiss me _or_ order me, so that'd be rather..." Ratchet would have swore Drift smiled, "...daring."

"What, you're just going to live in a circle in my living room?"

"I don't think what I do counts as 'living'," Drift said.

"Oh fine, be a smartass," Ratchet said. He got up to grab Trefacto's book and flopped onto the chair to read. Most of the book was taken up by the summoning circles...and now that he looked a little closer there were captions. "Oh hey, the book has a little caption for you. Want to hear it?"

"I would love to."

"Bet you would," Ratchet said, flipping back to the opening section. What kind of instruction book would tell you how to invite a super-powered serial killer into your house but not how to get rid of them? Ratchet had gotten damned good at speedreading in medical school, but he had _not_ practiced reading this kind of nonsense.

"So do most folks who summon you dismiss you?" Ratchet asked, casually.

"Not many," Drift said. "And certainly none of them without requesting a single thing. No, most summoners have no interest in making me go away when they could leave me bound to their will. I drift back between when they die and the binding releases."

This fragging useless book. Did nobody who summoned demons get buyer's remorse? Of course, it was the first book that Trefacto had managed to find in the throes of his new occultist passion, they might have just gotten lucky with Drift's summoning circle. Maybe everything else in it was rubbish. _Maybe you weren't supposed to follow the instructions until you knew what to do with a demon after it materialized..._

He was running out of time. Ratchet flipped to the end, in hopes of an index, and then flipped back to the front of the book to skim from the beginning again. ‘Once you have bound the sliver to your word as well as your being by use of their Name, be careful in your commands. They may interpret your words to allow more freedoms than you had intended, sometimes to fatal consequence.’

"Is your name actually Drift, Drift?" Ratchet asked.

"No," Drift said, delighted.

"Can you lie to me?" Ratchet asked.

"Why wouldn't I be able to?" From here the circle looked entirely empty but Ratchet could imagine the obnoxious faux-innocence of Drift's posture. He wondered what determined the angle from which Drift was visible - was it a factor of the environment or of Drift himself? He didn't have time to mess with this, Trefacto would be back soon.

"Hey Drift, if I opened the circle, would you kill me?" Ratchet asked.

"I might," Drift said.

Ratchet observed, "You don't seem very excited about the proposition."

"I might be leading you on so that you open the circle. No way to know," Drift said.

"You're not going to kill me," Ratchet announced. He put down the book and went to the power supply for his experiment.

"Really, Ratchet - "

Ratchet turned it off.

There was a rush of air that made him stagger backwards and Drift appeared again, his optics inches away from Ratchet's face. Now that he was closer, Ratchet could see that it wasn't just his optics that were visible through the inky darkness. There were also fangs. "You're an idiot," Drift hissed.

Ratchet smiled. "I want to make a deal. It's going to take me awhile to figure out how to release you and I don't particularly _want_ to learn how to order you around. Which I can't do anyway, because I don't know your name. But I really really need my roommate to not find out you're here. So what would I have to offer for you to promise to make that happen? I know you said there's not much people can offer you, but is there _something_?"

"I cannot believe that I am _right here_ and you still care more about what your roommate is going to think."

"You haven't met him. He's insufferable. Really."

"You should get a better roommate," Drift said suddenly. "A bargain....a _bargain._..I'm willing to accept your bargain, Ratchet, if in exchange you will hold me."

"Like, lift you?"

"No! Like - " Drift fluttered his arms helplessly and then wrapped them around his chest and squeezed. "Like that."

"You want me to hug you?"

"Yesss," Drift hissed.

Hesitantly, Ratchet reached out touched Drift's shoulder. It felt cold, like the frame of an empty who'd been outside during an ice storm, but solid. Real. Ratchet had been thinking of Drift as some sort of spectre, but he definitely had substance. "It's a deal," Ratchet said.

That settled, Ratchet shuttered his optics for a moment and put his arms around Drift, hands seeking out the middle of his back where the hug could seem comforting, but not _too _intimate. Drift shuddered, then looped his arms around Ratchet's waist and pulled him close.

_...to be continued?_


	5. Day 6 - Intensity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet summons a demon, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly Day 7's fill is a better fit for "Intensity" than this is, but I wanted to do my fluffy demon romance first so :3

Ratchet set down the datapad he was looking at and reached for the stack on the floor. His fingertips brushed the pad on the top of the stack, but he couldn't quite reach.

"Drift, could you grab that for me? Top datapad on the pile." Ratchet asked.

"Get it yourself," Drift said. He was sulking. Ratchet had to work on his reading and had told him they couldn't talk until he finished. Drift would get over it soon, it wasn't like they didn't talk all the time. He just got bored easily.

"I can't get it, you're lying on top of me," Ratchet pointed out.

Drift sighed. "Fine." The weight on Ratchet's chest shifted and the top datapad lifted from the stack and placed itself in Ratchet's hand.

"Thanks," Ratchet said, propping the new datapad on the armrest of the couch and scrolling through to hopefully find the promised citation on Cybercrosis in ferrum-positive sparktypes. Absently, he let his hand rest on Drift's helm, petting Drift's finial. Drift squirmed and Ratchet paused his hand.

"You can keep going," Drift said roughly, and Ratchet did. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that Drift was easily overwhelmed by physical contact - he'd guessed it from their first hug outside the summoning circle. Ratchet couldn't fathom the _level_ of touch-hunger Drift was dealing with, but he could empathize. He'd felt isolated before Drift; that hug had probably been his first one since Thunderclash went off-planet. Drift had been alone the entirety of his remembered existence, except for passing contact with other Slivers and his time bound to his previous summoners. And Ratchet didn't think any of them were the cuddling sort.

Ratchet didn't like to think about Drift's previous summoners. It made him angry. He was half-convinced the reason Drift refused to tell him how to send him back was out of fear of being summoned again. While he was bound to Ratchet there was no way for Drift to be ordered to live up to the more bloodthirsty parts of his demonic reputation.

Drift stretched, draping his arm over Ratchet's shoulder as he wiggled further up on Ratchet's chest. "You're supposed to be reading, Ratch," he said sleepily. "I know your reading doesn't make your aura blue like that."

"Auras don't exist," Ratchet corrected automatically.

"I don't exist, according to you."

"You are scientifically verifiable. Auras are imaginary," Ratchet said.

"It you say so, Ratch," Drift said appeasingly. "You know, if you don't want to read we could go for a walk."

"No, I have to do this. Otherwise Panax is going to jump on me during our morning meeting."

"I could jump him first," Drift suggested.

"I told you, I'm handling him. No attacking my faculty mentor."

"'Handling him'. Sure. That bastard better not say anything snotty to you again or I'm going to throw his prized paperweights off the hospital roof."

"Those are his Medical Excellence awards, they're not paperweights," Ratchet said. "Now shoosh, I'm trying to read."

"Mmmhmm," Drift agreed skeptically. But Ratchet really did have to finish the reading, so he pushed his thoughts about Drift aside and got to work. Ratchet had always had busy hands, he tended to worry holes in things when he wasn't paying attention. Petting Drift was a nice outlet for that restless energy.

About midway through his second reading the door slammed. Trefacto, Ratchet's roommate, locked optics with him. Ratchet draped his arm over the back of the couch, not quite sure what it looked like he'd been doing just then. Disadvantages of having an invisible demonic cuddle-buddy. "Forget something?" He asked.

"Yeah," Trefacto said, snapping back into motion as he hustled to his room. "I forgot my lucky crystal. We have an exam today in xenobiology."

Ratchet waited until Trefacto was out of sight before rolling his optics.

Trefacto skidded back into the room, rock in hand. "You have really bad posture dude."

"Nobody asked you," Ratchet said.

Trefacto laughed, because he pointedly could not differentiate between Ratchet making jokes and not making jokes. It was probably for the best. Ratchet liked Trefacto as a roommate - he never used the common areas and he was almost never home when Ratchet was, so it was practically like not having a roommate but with half the housing costs. A pretty good deal.

"Good luck on your exam," Ratchet said. Trefacto waved as he left, tossing his lucky rock in his hand. Ratchet waited a beat for him to get out of earshot. "If you keep being clingy in the common areas he is _going_ to notice."

"Ah, but I don't care if he notices. Ratchet, can I get some healing crystals?"

"I imagine you could steal some if you wanted to," Ratchet said.

"I don't want to steal them! That's bad energy, Ratchet! You can't use a stolen healing crystal for good luck."

"I cannot believe you're into all that rubbish. You're a demon. People are supposed to be swindled into believing in magic by you, not the other way around. It's almost as bad as you being a practicing spectralist - "

" - Primus is real and in his grace he grants to every Cybertronian infinite life and unending capability for change."

"Yeah but if he's real he's the one who cursed you to be like this."

"Well." Drift sobered up. "I deserved it, didn't I? He wouldn't have done it if I didn't deserve it. Can I get some pretty rocks, Ratchet?"

Ratchet groaned. There was only one way this could end. Him, in a open-air market full of junk, fake medicine and knickknacks, trying to buy some rocks without being seen by anyone who does, has or might ever know him.

\---

"Medic Ratchet, you are needed on the third floor," a voice came over the intercom. Ratchet looked around. That was...but it couldn't...he wouldn't be that stupid. "Medic Ratchet, you are needed on the third floor reception area," Drift repeated.

"I'll be right back," Ratchet told the patient who he'd been instructing on their recovery physiotherapy routine. "They only do announcements like that if there's an emergency."

Ratchet didn't bother with the elevator - he had the worst damned luck with elevators in this building. He headed straight for the stairwell and started climbing. It was late - he knew there were at least three other residents and one fully trained medic in the building, but none of them would have been on the third floor. Third floor was long-term care, cybercrosis cases and comas and paralysis-type form fatigue. There wouldn't have been anyone on the floor because _Ratchet_ had been scheduled to do the next nightly walk-through. There wouldn't be anyone on the third floor who could spot Drift except the patients and the ward manager -

Ratchet burst through the doors of the stairwell and nearly tripped over their mobile spark-support cart, which had been dragged out of its case. The ward manager was on the ground, propped up against a silhouetted figure with his hand clasped in theirs. "The medic is going to be right here, just hold on," Drift murmured.

"I'm here," Ratchet announced. "Almene? You with me?"

"There's a silver," Almene whispered, sounding dazed. Going into shock, probably. "There's an angel, Ratchet."

"That's good," Ratchet said, kneeling down by his side.

"It's rapid-onset frame rejection," Drift said. "There isn't much time."

"Since when are you a doctor?" Ratchet asked, plugging in. He was immediately buried in a wave of static and corrupted signals. Someone else pulled the cord and Ratchet found himself blinking at two golden optics in a sea of darkness. "Okay. Yeah. Frame rejection," Ratchet agreed. "We're going to get you downstairs to the operating room - Drift, grab a stretcher. I need to call in the cavalry, I can't do a frame transplant solo."

\---

"So I guess you're reading my medical texts?" Ratchet asked, leaning against the balcony railing as he watched the fliers dance across the city skyline. An uneventful night, from the long view.

"Mostly I just watch you," Drift said, leaning up against his shoulders. "But you spend a lot of time reading, I was bound to pick up on some of it eventually. I like your job, you know? This is the first time I've gotten to stick around Cybertron watching someone do work that's actively making the world _less_ evil."

"Except for the paperwork. I'm pretty sure all the paperwork is increasing the net evil in the world."

"Sure, Ratch."

Ratchet admired the night sky and tried not to count down the seconds until his break ended. But he couldn't help wondering..."Do you think Almene is going to remember that there was an angel in the long-term care ward?"

\---

"You have completely _failed_ to understand the object of this lesson," Panax said, leaning over the table. Ratchet assumed he was trying to loom over him, but after seeing Drift do that a few times in near total darkness while trying to blackmail Ratchet into watching movies with him the pose had rather lost its impact. "I will not have you disrespect the name and reputation of this institution by such gross violations of protocol."

A few months back, Ratchet would have stammered something about "doing better" but right now he wasn't feeling it. "That protocol was invented sixty years ago and has never improved mortality rates in actual clinical trials. The way I handled the case _is_ one of the accepted interventions in almost every other hospital in this hemisphere. If you want to send me up to the discipline board for keeping someone alive, go ahead. I'd love to talk to them."

From over Panax's shoulder, Drift mimed throwing his hand over his forehead dramatically and half collapsing in horror. Ratchet did his best to not pay attention to the satirical game of charades going on behind his faculty mentor. "Is there anything else you wanted to discuss, sir?" He asked.

"I can refuse to sign off on you completing your residency, you know," Panax hissed.

"You can," Ratchet acknowledged. "You've mentioned that several times. If that happens, the board will give me a chance to make my case and then transfer me to another hospital to complete two additional years of supervised training. I looked into this, you know. Turns out there's an actual procedure and it _isn't_ 'send your nearly trained medic to work as a mortuary assistant.'" Ratchet left off the part where he'd been goaded into looking it up by Drift, incensed over Ratchet's repeated refusal to either report Panax for harassment or to allow Drift to throw him off the roof along with his "decorative paperweights".

"You can go." Panax sat down in his chair and waved at Ratchet. "Get back to work." Probably felt like he needed to regroup, think of more threatening threats. Well, Ratchet was pretty sure he could handle whatever Panax thought up - he wasn't especially _creative_.

Ratchet nodded, keeping a straight face only by virtue of months of practice watching Drift pantomime embarrassing things while Ratchet was trying to have serious conversations. He got up and left the room, leaving the door open a trifle longer than he needed, in order to give Drift time to slip out behind him. Halfway down the hallway, a silhouette popped into visibility in front of him and offered up a high five. Ratchet slapped hands with him and kept walking. "You were right, that felt amazing."

"I told you! _I told you!_" Drift jeered, hopping around after Ratchet like a petro rabbit pumped up on enjex. "Let me throw his paperweights off the roof. Please. I can wait until you have an airtight alibi, it'll be great. Or - or - better yet, I could trip him while he's walking in the hallway. Not even fatally! Please?"

"I'm horrified at the suggestion you know how to fatally trip people," Ratchet joked. "No, Drift, we're going to take the high road."

"Tripping him in the hallway _is_ the high road. He said you _cheated on your exam scores_ and then when proven wrong carried on his weird vindictive vendetta for two years, I ought to break into his apartment and swap out all his energon with floor wax."

"I appreciate the enthusiasm Drift, but I'm almost to the finish line, it's not worth fighting over it now," Ratchet said, patting him on the the shoulder. "Just wait, my next boss will probably be even worse."

"Not for long they won't be," Drift hissed.

\---

There was someone screaming in Ratchet's berthroom. Ratchet was suddenly very, very awake.

"Drift!" He reached for Drift in the darkness and ended up being thrown off the berth, colliding against the shelf on the other side of the room. Several objects tumbled off the shelf, hitting the floor with a noise that sounded like gunshots in the formerly sleep-silent apartment. The screaming stopped, at least.

A door slammed and Trefacto called out. "Ratchet?"

"Sorry," Ratchet said. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You okay? That sounded scary."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Too many horror vids."

"Ok," Trefacto said skeptically. "Well, if you need anything, let me know."

"Thanks." Ratchet said. He waited until he could hear Trefacto go back to their room, then dragged himself back to his feet. Frag, his back hurt. "Drift?" He whispered. "_Drift?_"

Ratchet limped back to the berth and climbed back on, fumbling about for any sign of cold frame. His fingers found a bit of plating, which he followed to a shoulder and then to an entire sliver, curled up in the corner of his berth with his face buried in his arms. Drift was so still and so cold that Ratchet could have believed he was touching an empty frame. "Drift?" Ratchet asked again. He wasn't about to ask if Drift was _okay_, screaming nightmares were not the best sign of okayness. "You're safe. You're in my room, you're bound to me and no one can summon you. They can't hurt you any more."

"I hit you," Drift whispered.

"You were scared."

"I'm not supposed to be scared," Drift said. "I'm supposed to be evil and monstrous and too strong to hurt. I'm a monster. Monsters don't get to feel scared."

"Drift, I'm only going to say this once, because you're religious and it's going to offend you." Ratchet put his arm around Drift's shoulder, tentatively and then more firmly when he felt Drift relax into him. "If Primus did this? _He fucked up._ You don't deserve what happened to you. There is no amount of evil on the planet where someone would deserve this slag."

"I never dream about the bad things," Drift said. "It's never the murders or the...other stuff. It's stupid. I always dream about being summoned and then forgotten, just stuck inside a summoning circle forever. There's no reason why it couldn't happen. I'm bound until the summoner dies or releases me, it's been pure luck that some of them died before I - " Drift clutched at Ratchet's arm, burying his face in his shoulder. "Why couldn't he just unmake me? What's the _point_ of this?"

"I don't know. But if I ever meet Primus, which I won't because he doesn't exist, I'm going to give him a kiss with my fist and ask him what he has to say for himself," Ratchet whispered, smacking his closed fist against this palm.

"Ratchet!" Drift hissed. "He's _Primus_."

"He's fiction. Or an asshole. Those are about the options, as I see it."

"I don't think he'd appreciate a kiss very much," Drift said. There was a long pause. "On the other hand, if you wanted to - if you wanted to kiss someone. I know someone who would like that very much."

"Do you?" Ratchet asked.

"I know you only didn't send me away because you pitied me," Drift whispered. "And it's unfair of me to take advantage of that pity. But you make me feel real, Ratchet. And I want to be _real_. I want to be real enough to love you."

Ratchet leaned back onto the berth, pulling Drift with him until they were lying down, limbs tangled together. His hands found Drift's helm, stroking over his finials. He smoothed over Drift's lips with his thumb, scared to miss and ruin the moment. Slowly he pressed his lips against Drift's and then leaned back. "Do you love me?" He asked.

"Yes," Drift admitted. "I'm sorry, I - "

"Then you're already real. I don't pity you, Drift. I'm _angry_ for you. And, in case you hadn't noticed? I love you too. So why don't _you_ kiss _me_?"

Drift surged forwards, sealing his lips against Ratchet's and licking his way inside. He was making needy noises in the back of his throat and Ratchet had never felt more wanted in his life. He clung to Drift, rolling onto his back and hunting for a flash of gold optics. He wanted to get to watch this, the way lovers did.

_...yes there's going to be a part 3 ;)_


	6. Day 7 - Free Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet accidentally summons a demon and then falls in love, part 3/3
> 
> ....y'all this is so deeply unedited that I haven't even _reread_ it. I got some of the typos but it is 1:30 AM rn and I am going to bed.
> 
> EDIT: typos are now corrected to the same level of lightly-edited as the rest of my dratchtember ficlets! thanks for reading :3

Ratchet sighed. His patients didn't like it when there were cops lingering outside the building, even if Orion was his friend and didn't mean any harm. "I promise, Orion, first sign of trouble I'll call you up," he said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "You and Roller."

"I know, it's just - " Orion gesticulated at the surrounding street with its broken buildings and shuttered shopfronts and Dead End inhabitants. "Response times getting out here aren't great. It'd make me feel a lot better if you kept the clinic locked and hired some security. You've got a lot of valuable medicines in there and people are desperate."

"I heard you the first time, Orion, and I'm sorry but it's not going to happen. If I lock up the clinic it ceases to become a community space that people living here are willing to interact with. It starts looking like a predatory research lab or worse, a body-stripping operation. There's no point in running the clinic if nobody goes."

"Well, what about security? Just one guard - "

"I'll think about it Orion," Ratchet promised. "It's a good idea and I promise I'll think about it. Now, I really do need to get back to work," Ratchet hooked his thumb over his shoulder. He and Orion made their goodbyes and their promises to definitely hang out more and find the time to meet after work when they were both free - Ratchet was expecting be at least a couple of months but stranger things had happened to him lately than syncing schedules with Orion Pax.

Someone draped their arms over his shoulder, melting into him like a Cyberlynx seeking out warmth on a cold day. "You gonna hire security?" Drift whispered into his audial, clearly amused. "You need some tough mech to look after you, keep you safe?"

Ratchet rolled his optics. "I assumed you had it covered."

"Mm, I suppose I could be tempted into taking the position," Drift murmured. He kissed the back of Ratchet's neck, trailing kisses down to the sensitive spot where it joined with Ratchet's shoulder.

Ratchet tried not to squirm, hooking his thumbs into his hip plating and pretending he was surveying the city skyline contemplatively. "Not in front of the patients," he hissed under his breath.

"I want a nice rock in exchange for taking over security," Drift said. "Two rocks, actually. Tourmaline quartz, for sure, to clear the clinic of negative energies. And rainbow moonstone - meditating with a charged rainbow moonstone is supposed to help you find feelings of inner peace, I read."

"I'm not buying you magic rocks," Ratchet grumbled.

\---

Drift looked at the rocks in his cupped hands and then squinted at Ratchet. "Are you dying?" he asked, sounding suddenly very concerned.

"Why would I be dying?" Ratchet asked.

Drift stared at him in 'I have been requesting nonsense spiritualist crystals for a year and now you are suddenly giving them to me and there is no alternative explanation that makes sense'.

"I'm not going to be attending at the hospital in Iacon anymore," Ratchet said. "I've been requested as the attending medic for the Prime."

Drift smiled. "No more Panax? That's great, Ratchet - I knew someone was going to see how talented you were soon - "

"I don't want you to come with me to work any more," Ratchet said. "The clinic is fine, we'll still have the clinic. And I want to spend as much time with you as I can. But it's too risky to have you in the presence of the Prime."

Drift looked down at the rocks and then looked back at Ratchet. "This is an apology, then?"

"I am sorry. I couldn't turn down this appointment - he's the _Prime_, you don't say no to him. But I'm not so dense that I couldn't put together the pieces of what you've said about your previous summoners; they were government, weren't they? Maybe not at the Prime level, but certainly at the level of the Functionist Council."

"Not all of them," Drift said.

"But enough of them," Ratchet finished. "We can't risk that someone there has a way to detect slivers, that there are people in the Prime's inner circle who are observant enough to realize that you exist and what you are. I said I would keep you safe and the best way I can think to do that is to keep you far away from those people."

\---

Sometimes Ratchet’s patients at the clinic were reluctant to invite themselves inside. So when he saw a minibot huddled up by the entrance, Ratchet detoured to check if they were in the midst of a medical emergency.

"Hey kid, you here for the doctor?" Ratchet asked, crouching down a few feet away. Never get to close to a Dead Ender without permission, he'd learned that the hard way. Some folks didn’t want his help and he wasn’t going to force it on them. Even on his new CMO’s salary, he didn’t actually have the funds to take care of the entire Dead End. He needed to get himself a wealthy patron like Orion had.

"Hey medc Ratchet," the bot said, wiggling their fingers in a little wave. "No, I’m good. You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?"

"The street’s a public place, last I heard," Ratchet said. Technically Dead End was divided up into the territories of various street gangs and syk-pushers but Ratchet didn’t pay that any mind. He looked around, taking in the stillness of the street that night. It was too early for this deathly calm. "Something happening out here tonight?" He asked lightly.

"Someone got Theo," they said.

Ratchet raised a brow. Theomus was one of the most well-respected flophouse managers’s in Dead End. He ran one of the few buildings where a mech could rent a room and find a safe place to sleep off the streets and he was known for being both fair in his prices and unwilling to take sides in inter-gang disputes. If Theo was dead, that was going to have a seismic impact on the neighborhood. "They know who yet?"

The kid shook his head. "Whoever got him is still out there and - bad things don’t happen near your clinic."

"Is that right?" Ratchet asked.

"Proctor told me he nearly got disappeared a few days ago but he ran to the clinic and the mechs chasing him disappeared. They found them the next morning with their sparks ripped out, down by the Old Gate. Whoever got Theo, I don’t think they can touch me here. This place is protected."

"Sounds like superstitious nonsense to me," Ratchet said. "But come inside. There’s plenty of chairs in the waiting room, won’t hurt to have you taking up one of them."

After Ratchet worked through the patients who’d been waiting for him to show up, he headed of the back stockroom in search of Drift. They’d put a cot in Ratchet’s office but Drift had decided he preferred to set up a nest of towels and other soft things and sleep on the floor. Ratchet turned on the light and shuffled sideways until Drift winked into view. 

Drift made a sleepy noise and stretched out, blinking at Ratchet. Ratchet sat down and spread his arms, "Hey sweetspark, I missed you."

Drift threw himself into Ratchet’s arms, knocking them both onto the floor. "Ratchet!" He pressed his helm up against Ratchet’s, brushing their noses together. "How was your day?" He asked.

"It was fine," Ratchet said. "Better now." He kissed Drift, then got an arm around his waist to lift him as they stood up. Drift wrapped his legs around Ratchet, laughing into the kiss. Ratchet walked until he bumped into the table, then let Drift go to cradle his helm in his hands.

They wound down eventually, Drift still peppering Ratchet’s collar with kisses between words and Ratchet petting his finials as they talked.

"I heard some bad business went down in the Quarter today," Ratchet said. "Felt real tense out there tonight."

"Mm. I didn’t hear anything," Drift said. "But I did notice it seemed tense. Not a lot of foot traffic."

"I heard something else interesting," Ratchet said.

"Oh?"

"Apparently someone saved Proctor - you know, the kid with the fuel tank replacement surgery - from some body snatchers the other day. Right outside the clinic. You know anything about that?"

"How toothless do you want me to be?" Drift murmured into his shoulder. "I know you don’t like violence."

"I’ve never had any illusions that you were harmless," Ratchet said. "You’re going to start some urban myths if you keep it up."

"There are some people out there who think they're monsters and that they can do whatever they want without consequence," Drift said. "I’m just...correcting those misapprehensions."

\---

Ratchet had always thought he’d hated parties, but he hadn’t realized the depths of loathing he was capable of experiencing until he was asked to attend one of the Prime’s "banquets". Hundreds of rich bots and senators swirling about, trying to one-up each other and buying and selling influence over ritzy energon spritzers. People felt the need to talk to him because he was Chief Medical Officer and somehow they thought that translated into some sort of influence with the Prime. If he’d had any sort of influence at all he would have been safely home at his apartment watching cheesy movies with Drift. He wondered what they’d think if they knew he still lived in his run-down apartment block with his college roommate.

It was already a scandal that Ratchet was so _young_. The Prime hadn’t chosen Ratchet out of any special regard for his skills, he’d told Ratchet as much. He’d selected Ratchet because he didn’t give a damn about politics and had no political connections to any of the Prime’s rivals. That, a general competence and the Prime’s apparent grudge against Panax (really the one political opinion they shared) had been enough to catapult Ratchet from obscurity.

Ratchet made awkward excuses to the senator who’d cornered him to try to ask about "you know, this noise when I bend my elbow. It goes ‘creak, creak’, I swear it does, I just can’t seem to make it do it just now." Spotting an unoccupied doorway out onto the balcony, Ratchet lifted another flute of engex from a serving droid and slipped out of the crowd.

There were still people out here, just fewer of them. And since the balcony was only lit by the decorative floating lanterns it was nearly too dim to recognize people. Hopefully that would stop people from locating him for a few minutes.

"Excuse me, Medic Ratchet?"

Ratchet sighed, then squared his shoulders and turned to face the speaker. Large frame, tank alt, probably a dark blue or purple but it was hard to tell in the lighting. Long clawed hands gripped a delicate flute of engex. He was wearing a mask.

Ratchet hadn’t realized this was a masquerade. "That would be me," he said, then offered the mech a hand to shake. "And you are…"

"My name is Tarn." The mech lingered on the handshake just a shade too long. Ratchet’s plating crawled. "I run a...team, one of the Prime’s pet projects. We seek out occult beings and those dangerous persons who would try to harness that power to their will. We call it the ‘DJD’."

Ratchet didn’t like where this was going, but he had a part to play. "Can’t say as I believe in any of that, but the Prime is free to spend his money where he wills. What is ‘DJD’ supposed to stand for?"

"Oh, it’s a joke - we call ourselves the Demon Justice Division. And I assure you, doctor, the creatures we seek are very real indeed."

"You would be the expert on that, I suppose," Ratchet said with a tip of his glass. "Forgive me if I remain a skeptic; they drill it into you in medical school. Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Ah, yes. I understand you live with a certain Trefacto of Iacon at," Tarn rattled off Ratchet’s address. "There were several books inside your residence as of three days ago that would fall under the purview of my unit. I had my agents take the liberty of removing this contraband from the property. I decided it would be best to speak with you in person, rather than bringing you and your roommate in for official...questioning. Often it’s simplest to take a light touch with these matters."

Ratchet’s spark was stuttering in his chest, a sickly mixture of rage and fear. _How dare…_ He tried to quash that response and decided there was no way he could do that convincingly. "You had my apartment searched?" He asked in a voice on just this side of civil. Maybe slightly beyond it, but quietly enough that he didn’t attract the attention of the surrounding socializers.

"Yes."

"On what _grounds_?" Three days ago...Drift had stayed at the clinic that day because Ratchet had been doing a showcase surgery, he didn’t like being alone in the apartment when Ratchet wasn’t there.

"I don’t believe you’re understanding the depth of the Prime’s trust in me. He is concerned that others may attempt to use powers beyond their control to tilt the planet away from its proper course," Tarn said. "You weren’t singled out, doctor, you were one of many. Now, the books. Do you know why they were there?"

"My roommate believes every conspiracy on this side of Luna II," Ratchet said, trying to figure out how to phrase this so that Trefacto would sound thoroughly unthreatening. "He believes in crystal healing, he believes that people have auras, he believes that Luna I was eaten by an invisible space whale. He had a passing fancy in the occult and got a few books on the subject. Nothing came of it. As far as I know they’ve been sitting on a shelf ever since."

"You don’t believe he’s implemented any of the techniques in those books?"

"I don’t believe he _could_ implement any of the techniques in those books," Ratchet said. "Because it’s all slag. But no, I don’t think he’s actually tried any of it. He got the books from a street vendor or something, tried reading them and complained that the writing was impenetrable and gave up."

"Mm-hmm," Tarn said. He lifted his mask slightly with one hand so that he could take a sip of his drink.

"Is it illegal now, having books?"

"Oh no, we’re not discussing a violation of the law. We’re discussing the potential violation of the natural order of things, of the will of Primus." Tarn reached out and brushed the underside of Ratchet’s chin with his claws, tilting his head up. "I think it would be for the best if you were to find a new roommate, doctor. I would hate to have to bring you in for interrogation. The Prime is very fond of his new pet, after all." Tarn stepped away, raising his glass slightly in acknowledgement. "Travel safely tonight, doctor. And watch your step."

\---

"Are you going to need help carrying any of this down?" Trefacto asked, pausing in the doorway of Ratchet’s room. Ratchet grimaced, looking around a the chaos. He’d hoped to get everything packed up before the van came, but they’d messaged him that they were waiting downstairs and he was still bundling up his datapads into stacks.

"Yeah, that’d be helpful, actually," Ratchet said. "I’m sorry to leave you in a lurch like this. I’d planned on moving out at the end of the lease, but…"

"You’re the Prime’s CMO now, it was weird they didn’t order you to move out sooner," Trefacto said with a wave of his hand. "I’ll just sublease your room out until the trimester ends. Got a few boxes prepared? I could carry those down for you while you’re packing the rest."

"One second, let me check these to make sure they’re ready," Ratchet said, climbing over the stack of datapads to open up one of his finished boxes.

"Is that a moonstone?" Trefacto asked. "Oh gosh, is that cuprite? Ratchet, you never told me you were into the metaphysics of crystal energies. We could have been having so many interesting conversations."

"Oh, that’s not mine actually," Ratchet said. "It’s a gift. For my sparkmate."

"Woah!" Trefacto gasped. "You’re dating someone? Primus’s fuelpump, that’s _wild_. For how long?"

"Uh, awhile. A year or so."

"And you never mentioned anything?" Trefacto smiled. "Wait, why am I even surprised, this is you we’re talking about. Congrats. You should definitely introduce me to your sparkmate sometime, though. If we ever hang out after this. You do have my comm frequency?"

Ratchet dutifully pretended he would ever call Trefacto again and checked that he had his comm frequency written down. The rest of the time they were packing, Trefacto continued to ask Ratchet questions about Drift. Ratchet absently invented answers, most of his mind on packing. The rest of his concentration was on the anxious knot in his spark, which was growing harder and harder to ignore. So he got a little threatened by some theatrical weirdo with his own secret police force. That was no reason to freak out - no reason to freak out more than he already was.

By the time he’d said his goodbyes to Trefacto and sent the van off with his stuff towards his new apartment, the knot was beginning to become physically painful. Ratchet decided to walk it off, but the pain kept building and eventually he had to sit down. It felt like spark pain, but Ratchet’s indicators all looked steady. The only time he’d expect to see pain like this in a healthy patient was if they were a split spark and something was stretching the bond between them and their resonant partner - 

Wait.

"Orion, Roller, I’m going to need you at my clinic," Ratchet snapped into his comm as he dropped into his alt mode.

"What’s going on?" Orion asked.

"Someone’s about to get murdered at my clinic and I can’t wait for backup," Ratchet said. "So, uh, get there fast or hopefully avenge me. You’re looking for a guy about Roller’s size, wears a mask, talks like a creep, thinks he’s lord of the universe. Tarn."

"Ratchet, wait for us," Roller said. "We’ll get out there as fast as we can."

"Sorry, I can’t promise that," Ratchet said. "He’s got my sparkmate."

Ratchet turned off comms and switched on his locational beacon. How could Ratchet have been so stupid as to think Tarn wouldn’t know about the clinic? Ratchet hadn’t even warned Drift about his encounter with Tarn the night before - he hadn’t wanted to make him so worried that he insisted on shadowing Ratchet at work and get caught.

Ratchet hit the streets of Dead End at a speed he hadn’t realized he was capable of. People ran to get out of his path, streets flying by until he got to the block where his clinic was and had to screech to a halt because of the mass of people blocking the road.

"Medic!" Someone whispered frantically and the crowd converged on him, mobbing him so he couldn’t move forwards. Ratchet transformed back to his root mode and tried to push past them.

"Medic Ratchet, you can’t go in there! They’ll kill you!" Someone whispered and Ratchet paused. He looked around. These weren’t just any Dead Enders. These were his patients, the ones he’d left at the clinic when he’d gone into work the night before. Even his long-term care patients, who couldn’t walk on their own, had been dragged out into the street.

"What’s happening?" He asked.

Everyone tried to answer him all at once and Ratchet had to throw up his hands to stop them. "One person," he said. He pointed at a grounder with green paint and a bad case of peripheral rust infection. "You. What’s happening in my clinic."

The mech explained, haltingly. Five mechs - one of whom was definitely Tarn - had shown up at the clinic. They’d ordered everyone out and, when some of the patients tried to fight back, one of them had transformed into a sniper rifle and Tarn had started picking off patients.

"He got Sleek," the grounder said. "But before he could shoot anyone else your demon showed up to fight them."

Drift had rushed in, in all his idiotic heroic bravery, and thrown himself at Tarn, buying the patients time to evacuate.

"Before we left, I saw them trap him," one of the other mechs in the crowd said. "The three of them used these lasers to make a light trap and pinned him in it. We haven’t seen anything since - they’ve got two guards on the door. One brute with a grinder in his chest and the one who turns into a rifle. But we could hear them for awhile." The mech shuddered. "It sounded horrible."

Ratchet’s fuel ran cold. Five mechs, all built for combat. No, not combat. From what his patients had seen, they were built for _torture_. "I can’t leave him there," Ratchet said. _How was he going to take down five mechs? What if Drift was already...no. If Drift was gone it would stop hurting, and it hadn’t._ "I need more information," Ratchet decided. "And if anyone’s got one, I need a gun."

The buildings in this section of Dead End had largely been gutted in the fires and the riots. To a mech that knew their business they were porous - you could follow a path through broken windows, half-collapsed staircases, walls with secret tunnels and jury-rigged catwalks. Ratchet’s patients knew their business. Ratchet found himself in the building opposite his clinic, using a mirror to look through the window while he crouched below its frame. Sure enough, the two guards at the front door were exactly as described. Ratchet watched them for a moment, trying to turn the sludge in his brain into a plan. He had a bad habit of going into things without a plan and it had, historically speaking, rarely ended well for him. And most of those times he hadn’t been trying to take down five fanatics-slash-professional torturers.

Drift screamed. Ratchet flinched, but he kept his optics on the mirror. The larger guard turned towards the clinic for a moment in response to the sound, a sick smile on his face. And then, just for a moment, his optics disappeared from behind his armor. The guard turned back and his optics lit red again. Ratchet snapped the mirror closed. "Those people aren’t mechs," he said. "They’re demons painted to look like mechs."

Ratchet and Drift had realized, a while back, that if you went through the effort of applying body-paint, Drift would be visible from all directions. It was useless for blending in with a crowd because they couldn’t paint over his optics, not if Drift wanted to see. And so you’d have a perfectly visible bot whose optics were pools of impenetrable darkness from every angle but one. Apparently Tarn’s DJD hadn’t found this to be a problem.

"Okay," Ratchet said. "Can someone help get me to the back entrance? I’ve got a plan."

From inside the building, the sounds of what they were doing to Drift were inescapable. Ratchet shuffled through the back hallway to his storeroom, quivering with anger. He couldn’t do anything about that yet, he had to wait. Ratchet’s tank wanted to purge itself but there was no time to waste having feelings. He had a demon to rescue.

In the dark he gathered up his supplies. Then he climbed onto the table to reach the hatch that led to the crawlspace above the ceiling. He’d spent plenty of time clambering around in here when he did the wiring for his lights and surgical equipment, but when he’d been doing all that it hadn’t mattered how much noise he made. Now what mattered most was silence and the silence let him hear all the louder what was happening downstairs.

"Do you repent, Sliver?" Tarn asked. "Do you repent for your crimes against Primus, do you welcome your damnation?"

"I already said yes," Drift stammered. "I’m a practicing spectralist, you know."

There was a crackle like an arc welder and Drift screamed again, voice ragged.

"You are _nothing_," Tarn hissed. "You are not fit to speak Primus’s name. You are not fit to _speak._ You’re place is to serve and to scream."

"Fuck you," Drift growled.

Ratchet tried to tune it out again as he reached the space over the entryway. Two slivers, watching the road and not the ceiling. Ratchet vented slowly, trying to steady himself. One of his patients, who was definitely a gunrunner, had lent him a bandolier to carry his supplies in. Ratchet took out a roll of tape, some wire and a handful of small lenses. He assembled the components of his trap first, then started lowering them into place. He started with the corner by the door - lifting one of the small ceiling tiles beneath the crawlspace and hooking the wire with the mirror taped to the bottom over the support beam. Four mirrors, suspended exactly the same distance from the ceiling. He wasn’t going to have much wiggle room. Finally, he powered on the little laser pointer he’d found and lowered it down on it’s own hook until he could see it refract off the mirror. The beam bounced from mirror to mirror and the trap closed. The slivers didn’t seem to notice, at least not yet. Ratchet moved on to the main room.

Slowly, carefully, he unscrewed a bit of ventilation piping and moved it aside so that he could use the ceiling vent as a peephole. _Be strong, Ratchet. You’re going to save him._ He forced himself to look.

There were a pair of light circles - one that encompassed most of the room and one that was encircling a single berth, with just enough space for a slender red and gold sliver with electricity sparking over his plating to stand at the head of the berth without exiting the circle. The other sliver was huge, larger than tarn, with an open barrel chest full of liquid metal. They were standing close, but carefully outside the circle. Tarn paced back and forth, crossing over the light beam of the inner circle with little care.

Drift was on the berth.

You could make a sliver visible by painting them, Ratchet and Drift had figured that one out on their own. Apparently you could do the same thing by pouring molten metal over their frame. Drift shook and shuddered on the berth, frame streaked with lines of grey cooled slag.

"Feeling warm yet?" Tarn asked lightly.

Drift glared at him.

Tarn snapped his fingers. "Kaon."

The sliver with the electricity powers - Ratchet’s patients had warned him about them - grabbed Drift by the finial. There was a crackle and then charge arced between Kaon’s shoulders. Drift writhed on the berth.

Ratchet focused his fury into his hands. He laid in another trap encircling the sliver with the smelter and then carefully lowered in his laser pointer. The mech didn’t seem in a hurry to move, hopefully Ratchet would have time before he noticed.

Tarn walked over to the smelter and filled a ladle with molten metal before walking back to the berth. "Sit up," he commanded.

Drift stared at him, sullenly. Tarn snapped his fingers and Kaon shocked him again. Drift still didn’t move to sit up, possibly because he couldn’t. Ratchet knew that Drift was stronger and considerably faster than most mechs, and given some of the stories Drift had alluded to from his time before Ratchet he must have been able to withstand more damage than most Cybertronians could survive. But still.

Ratchet began to mix the vials of chemicals he’d brought with him, tamping the container closed with his thumb. He needed to wait for the right moment.

"Lift him," Tarn ordered and Kaon wrapped his arm around Drift’s shoulder to shove him to a sitting position. "Would you care to tell me your name? I’m offering you one last chance to give me your name and your bond. I want you to understand - this is your very last chance. I would be happy to have you join our ranks, but if that’s not a possibility...my directive from the Prime was to purge all unholy creatures from the planet. And that I will gladly do."

Drift didn’t say anything, which Tarn clearly took as an invitation to monologue. "You might believe that you can outlast me. Primus knows you slivers can survive a great many things. I once had Tesarus grind a sliver down until it was only a head and it could still cry out in pain. But I was chosen for this role for a reason. I was forged with a gift beyond that of my peers - the ability to break any machinery, snuff out any spark, extinguish any demon. All by the power of my voice."

"That sounds about right," Drift said. "I bet most folks want to die, if they have to listen to you too long."

Tarn reached out and grabbed Drift’s face, forcing his head back. "_Your name_," he roared.

"Drift," Ratchet whispered, coming to a realization he should have had a long time ago.

Drift’s optics flicked towards him and Ratchet knew he was right. Drift had lied when Ratchet had first summoned him - he’d given Ratchet his actual name. The ability to order him, to bind him and to banish him. That meant that Ratchet could break the binding on Drift, right now, and he’d be able to leave Cybertron.

"I may die," Drift spat. "But I will always be his."

Tarn poured the ladle of molten metal over Drift’s face. The pain echoed through the bond to Ratchet’s spark so intensely that he thought maybe he was dying too. When he forced his optics to focus again Tarn was pacing, ladle halfway across the room where he’d apparently thrown it in a fit of rage. Kaon had released Drift and was looming over him, charge building on his plating.

That was Ratchet’s cue. He lifted his thumb off the vial in his hand and dropped it against the vent grate. Smoke poured out and a few moments later Ratchet heard the sprinklers start as the siren kicked on. Someone screamed, hopefully Kaon. Ratchet was already scrambling back towards the stockroom entrance, dragging open his own internal protocols and scorching ground as he went.

He dropped down into the stockroom in perfect silence. He’d been hoping for a pistol, but the patient who’d loaned him the bandolier had handed him off both a laser pistol and a rifle. Ratchet checked each of them again and then stomped into the main room and shot Tarn.

Tarn was armored, so he wasn’t expecting to bring him down in a single shot, but it was still disappointing to see him shrug off the shot with a shake of his head. At least Kaon and the smelter were down - Kaon on the ground, plating smoking and the smelter hammering on the invisible walls of his laser trap. But Tarn was still in play. 

With his faceplate on it was very difficult to tell if Tarn was speaking. Ratchet fired another shot at him, nearly hitting him in the throat. Not that "nearly" did any good. He’d never been any good at shooting, Roller had pointed this out numerous times throughout his attempts to train him. Tarn drew his own gun and Ratchet dove behind the life-support console, feeling the shockwave from the impact against his back.

Barring some freak accident or an actual miracle, he wasn’t going to be able to bring down Tarn, Ratchet realized. Thinking otherwise had been an act of hubris, brought on by rage. Drift was too weak to even lift himself and there was no way he could stop _Drift_ from hearing Tarn’s voice. Tarn could be killing Drift even now, and there would be no way for Ratchet to know.

There was only one option: breaking the bond so Drift could escape.

Ratchet stepped out from behind the console and fired a shot, not at Tarn but at one of the mirrors making up the circle around the berth. "Drift!" He yelled. "I order you to save yourself! Go home!"

Drift stared at him in shock. Ratchet felt a pressure on the sparkbond again, this time different than the others, a vibration of what could only be described as _laughter_. He looked at Ratchet and then he was gone.

Ratchet had known Drift could move more quickly than was physically possible for a Cybertronian. He hadn’t realized until he could see it in the traces of melted iron fused to his frame that Drift was using magic to do it.

Drift threw Tarn to the ground and sunk his claws into Tarn’s frame. Tarn struggled and then slowly began to melt into sintered sentio metallico. When Ratchet tore his optics away from Drift the other slivers were already gone, unbound with Tarn’s death. 

Drift hauled himself to his feet and began to stagger towards Ratchet. Ratchet ran to him, digging back into his protocols to enable his hearing again. "I told you to go!" Ratchet yelled, scooping Drift up into his arms and burying his face against his chest. "I told you to go so you’d be safe."

Drift’s vocalyzer crackled and hissed, melted beyond function. But then his voice echoed against the sparkbond, perfectly clear.

>>You told me to go home, Ratchet. _You’re_ home.<<

"What in the pits is going on?" Orion shouted, throwing the door to the clinic open. Roller staggered in behind him, looking around frantically.

Ratchet looked at them across his ruined clinic, sprinklers still pouring water from the ceiling, Drift’s mutilated frame clutched in his arms. "It’s a long story," he said. "This is my sparkmate. He’s a demon. I don’t suppose either of you have some green tourmaline on hand? I think we’re going to need all the healing energy we can get."

**Author's Note:**

> I <3 comments and also dratchet.
> 
> p.s. thank you to everyone who's commented (here & on social media!) - I am absolutely going to reply once this week is over and i'm not writing dratchet ficlets from morning till night 😂


End file.
